Sunday Morning
by Tropical Medlies
Summary: So much for a normal, lazy Sunday morning. One-shot.


When Imogen woke up to the smell of something that smelled suspiciously like pancakes cooking, she forewent her normal morning routine of lazily rolling around in the bed for a few minutes and bemoaning the fact that she had to get up until Fiona forced her awake, and sprang up. The quick action startled their cocker spaniel, Dexter, who struggled to stand from his bed in the corner of the room and follow her out of the room as she muttered under her breath about how this was clearly a disaster already.

Sure enough, when she jumped the last step of their staircase and placed Dexter back on the floor (their little guy was getting so advanced in age that he could no longer take the stairs on his own, which meant that either Imogen or Fiona had to carry him), she found Fiona standing in the kitchen and humming along to the radio as she tended to a batch of pancakes that were cooking on the griddle. Dexter skidded to a stop next to her and she grinned at him, leaning down to scratch the top of his head.

Imogen cautiously inched closer to their island, peering at the food that Fiona was trying to prepare. "How's it going?" she said casually, attempting to scope out the situation before Fiona stood up again. Fiona was notoriously bad at cooking, and for the most part she stayed away from the kitchen. In fact, in the entire time that they had been married and lived in their house, she had tried to cook a total of three times, all of which ended in the fire alarm going off, something burning, and, on that one memorable occasion, the fire department being called.

Her wife stood up and rubbed her hand against the cotton of her sleep shorts before pushing a stray curl out of her eyes. "Good! Come here." She motioned for Imogen to lean over the island, which she did, and the two kissed good morning, something that they'd done for the past five years with the only exceptions being when one of them was away on a trip. "I know you usually make breakfast for us on Sundays, but you looked so cute sleeping this morning that I thought I'd try it for once. Dex here was helping me, but then someone had to go back up and find you. I swear, he has more of an attachment to you than I do," she teased, flipping over a pancake.

Imogen cringed upon seeing that the pancake was slightly charred, but she let it go without comment. "I can take over now, if you want?" Oh, please let Fiona say that she could before their cute Victorian house went up in flames.

Spinning around and heading to the fridge, Fiona shook her head. "No, I have it!" she called, pulling the syrup out and closing the door with her foot. Imogen bit her lip and nodded, giving her a tight smile, and proceeded to play with her wedding band as she watched Fiona like a hawk. It was only when Dexter began to whine that she realized that she had to leave her alone long enough to take him outside. "I'm going to walk Dexter, but call me if you need any help, okay?" she warned, finding the cocker spaniel's leash and clipping it to his collar.

Fiona only waved to her with a noncommittal noise, now dancing along a little to an old Maroon 5 song that Imogen remembered as being popular when she was in middle school. Imogen stopped by the side door of the kitchen that led to their backyard and took a moment to watch her, internally swooning over the fact that, even after a decade of being together, she could watch Fiona dance around in their kitchen in her pajamas, waving a spatula, hair a mess, and singing off-key to a song that she only knew half the words to and still find her to be the most beautiful woman in the world. Dexter strained against the lead and she reluctantly opened the door, following him outside so that she could let him wander the perimeter of their fenced-in backyard.

When she went back inside, her feeling of calm dissipated immediately when she noticed that there was smoke hanging in the air, and a second after the door clicked shut the fire alarm went off. She dropped the leash and clapped her hands over her ears, wincing. "Fiona!" she yelled, spotting her wife trying to put out a small pancake-related fire on the griddle. "How did you even - I was gone for two minutes, tops!"

"I don't _know_!" Fiona replied, looking equally as lost as she scooped up the offending pancake and dropped it into the sink, dousing it with water. Imogen took the opportunity to slip past Fiona and turn off the stove. She turned around long enough to pull the spatula out of her wife's grasp and transfer the rest of the pancakes to one of the waiting plates, and the two of them stared down at them.

"I don't think these are edible, honey," she said after a moment, and Fiona let out a sigh. Taking a step forward, she wrapped her arms around Imogen's waist and rested her cheek against the other girl's back.

"I'm sorry. I just really wanted to do something nice for you today," she mumbled, the vibration of her words resonating through Imogen's back. Imogen smiled to herself and placed her hands over Fiona's. "I didn't know it would turn out that disastrously, although with my track record I really should have seen it coming."

"Oh, it wasn't that bad, Fions. Look, why don't I make us some more and you and Dexter can sit and watch? I mean, I know it's not the same, but I think it's a little better than the fire department having to come and bail us out again. I can only use the 'Sorry, my wife's just so hot,' joke so many times." That got a laugh out of Fiona, and she pulled away from Imogen, who turned around and draped her arms around her wife's neck. "It's the thought that counts, Fi," she reassured her, before leaning in to kiss her soft and slow.

They broke apart when they heard an odd scuffling noise, and when Fiona checked underneath the breakfast bar she found Dexter, retractable leash still attached to his collar, stuck to the leg of one of their chairs. "Oh, buddy," she said sympathetically, leaning down to untangle him while Imogen set about making another batch of pancakes.

They fell into easy conversation while Fiona sat at the breakfast bar with Dexter in her lap and watched Imogen cook. People constantly commented about how their friendship seamlessly integrated with their relationship and how that was hard to find sometimes, and the two of them had never really stopped to think about it, but sometimes it stood out in moments like this. They talked about the most mundane of things - like how Imogen's boss was being a total asshole at work right now, or how they needed to repaint their bedroom because Fiona couldn't stand looking at the yellow any longer - and it was just comfortable and soothing to them. Imogen couldn't think of a time where this conversation would be boring to her, and if ever such a time occurred, she'd have to get her head checked because nothing that concerned Fiona Coyne would ever be boring to her.

"Order up!" she called cheerfully, sliding both plates onto the bar, watching as Fiona rolled her eyes as she placed Dexter back on the ground.

"Must we with the fry cook terminology, Immy?" No matter how much Fiona poked fun at it, she secretly thought it was adorable when her wife tried to use slang like that. Imogen grinned at her, handing over silverware and the syrup before taking her seat.

They ate in silence, the only sound in the room being the squeak of Dexter's rubber hot dog as he chewed on it in front of the dishwasher. Fiona broke it after her first pancake was done, and what she said practically knocked Imogen off her seat.

"So, I was thinking: we should have a baby."

The way that she said it was so casual, almost like she was throwing out another suggestion for their bedroom paint color, that Imogen choked on her pancake. She grabbed for her glass of milk and chugged it, coughing when she could finally get some air, and Fiona watched her with a somewhat amused expression. A baby? An actual child that they would have to watch and take care of and raise and make into a real human being? It wasn't that she didn't want one - she had been dreaming of having a family with Fiona for a while now - and she knew that they were financially in a good place, what with them having their own house and stable jobs that paid well, and they were only twenty-seven, so they were on the young side and had enough energy, but still. A baby. That was a lot of responsibility to take on. Most of their friends were just getting their own houses or getting married, things that they had accomplished just out of college, so it wasn't like they weren't used to being ahead of the curve.

"Immy? Imogen?" Fiona was waving her hand in front of Imogen's face now, trying to get her attention, and Imogen blinked, coming back to earth.

"You want a baby? With me?" she breathed, dropping her knife and fork into her plate, not feeling hungry at all now.

Fiona let out a surprised laugh, turning in her chair to face Imogen head-on. "No, with Eli. Of course with you, Imogen. I just feel like we're in a good place right now. I mean, we've been together for almost ten years now, we have our own house, we both have great jobs. You're wonderful with kids, we've said that we wanted a family before. We're at a good age, I think, and didn't you say once you wanted kids before you were thirty? I mean, maybe I'm wrong, but - "

Imogen shook her head and leaned forward to plant her hands on Fiona's knees, meeting her gaze. "Yes, Fiona. Of course I want to have a family with you. Yes! Oh, my gosh, yes! A baby! We're going to have a baby!" She squealed and leapt out of her chair and onto Fiona, who just barely caught her, and hugged her tightly.

"I love you so much," Fiona said, rubbing Imogen's back, and Imogen echoed the statement. Dexter had risen from his spot at the commotion and was underfoot now, barking every once in a while in an effort to be noticed, and Imogen detached herself from Fiona to let the other girl pick him up. "You're going to be a big brother, Dexter! Yes, you are, buddy!" she cooed, letting him lick her chin as he wiggled excitedly.

Imogen stood off to the side with her arms crossed, and watched the two of them with a small smile. So much for a normal, lazy Sunday morning.


End file.
